He Who Fights Demons Ch 9 (Patreon)

Heyo, sorry for late post, this chapter fought me pretty hard. Had to start from scratch a couple of times. Still not certain about it, but I'm also not entirely certain how else to go about this chapter.

Let me know if y'all liked it.

And if not...I'll cry.

Big ugly cry too. Ain't nobody wants to see that.

Anyways, joking aside, chapter, hope you like.

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Ubuyashiki Kagaya pushed himself to his knees, much to his wife’s consternation.

“Please, repeat yourself.” He demanded, trying to control his breathing as his heart beat against his ribs.

“Yes, Master.” Uzui said, not rising from his kneeling position even if he tensed his body to catch Kagaya in case he fell, by his expression he had a number of things he wanted to say to Kagaya, but did not violate decorum in order to voice them. “The family I brought with me, the father claims Kibutsuyi Muzan attacked their home, I arrived too late to do anything about it. But if the family’s patriarch is to be believed, their eldest son drove Muzan off, perhaps at the cost of his own life. We waited several days to see if he would return, but he never did. They seem to have some ancestral knowledge of demons, as well as the Demon Slayer Corps, but it is generations out of date, devolved mostly to myth.”

Kagaya shook his head. “No no, the Kagura this man mentioned.”

Tengen nodded. “An ancestral art passed down their family for generations. Learned from someone the family calls ‘Hinokami’. I can attest that the family’s patriarch, Kamado Tanjuro, moves with the grace of a sword master. I have not asked to spar with him, but I suspect it would not be an easy contest.”

Kagaya’s mind raced, the vision in his one good eye blurring.

He did not dare hope that they were practitioners of the First Breath. The Ubuyashiki family had scoured the Empire for hundreds of years in search of a surviving master, or even a pupil.

But if they were…

“I must meet them.” Kagaya said, clenching his throat and chest to stop a cough. “Immediately.”

“I shall have them brought t—”

“Absolutely not.” Kagaya stated, pushing himself to his feet and resolutely walking out of the room. “I shall go meet them.”

“Kagaya.” Amane sighed, stepping next to him and easily halting his progress.

“Please, Amane.” He said, speaking carefully so as not to cough. “I must see it, while I still can.”

Amane’s eyes tightened, but she nodded. “Tengen, please lead us to our guests.”

“As you wish.” Tengen said, almost perfectly hiding his trepidation. He did sneakily signal one of his wives, who ran off. Presumably to fetch the man.

The walk to the courtyard was far too long for comfort. He once again silently cursed Muzan’s selfishness, and resolved himself to go on more walks, despite what the doctors said.

The man that met his fading eyesight was the very picture of what Kagaya secretly longed to be. Tall, strong, his every gesture bursting with vitality, his every movement performed with fluid grace, his strength was obvious in his frame, yet the wisdom behind the man’s eyes was clearly evident.

Beside and slightly behind the man was a young woman, her hair was a fiery red, her frame lithe and womanly, yet it had the musculature of a warrior, and significantly taller than most, dwarfed only by Tengen’s massive frame.

The pity he saw in her green eyes hurt him more than he would care to admit.

Disgust he had long become accustomed to. It was only natural; his body was covered in rashes and scars, its vitality sapped by his family’s shameful curse as penance for their sin. He still remembered his own father, how the man had smelled like a corpse, long before the time that he’d breathed his last.

Kagaya was not far behind him with a corpse-white eye, and the rashes and scars quickly encroaching on his one remaining eye, his stick-thin sickly frame, and much like his father before him, the scent of his body began to be closer to a corpse than not.

Disgust from someone who did not know of his situation was natural. It was expected. How could one be expected to know that his sickness was one of spirit inflicted by the Gods as punishment? He would not blame others for ignorance on a tightly kept secret.

Pity however? That cut far deeper.

He kept the pain from his expression. If he would not punish ignorance, then to punish another for empathy would make him a hypocrite of the worst kind.

He stepped out of the mansion’s roof to allow the sun to warm him, the scars and rashes on his flesh aching from the sun’s cleansing touch. “Mister Kamado, my name is Ubuyashiki Kagaya, I thank you for coming.”

The man, Kamado, surprised him when he smiled serenely and stepped forward, taking Kagaya’s hand in both of his and squeezing gently.

His hands were rough and callused, yet warm and gentle. The sun’s rays easing in their punishment with the man’s touch.

“No sir, it is I who must thank you. For sheltering my family in our time of need.” He said with a smile.

Kagaya motioned with his free hand for Tengen and his other servants to remain silent. And squeezed the man’s hand back as best he could. “It is the least we could do. You bring us much needed news, and perhaps something else that we have been searching for, for a long time.”

“This ‘first breath’ that Mister Uzui mentioned?” Tanjuro asked. “In that case I fear I must disappoint you.”

“Eh?”

Tanjuro nodded. “It has become evident to me that what my family passed down was lacking, a flawed art passed on by a flawed understanding, by a flawed untalented student. For what you seek, I fear my son would need to be present, he is the one who took the Kagura my family has passed down and refined it into the art you likely speak of.”

“Ah yes, the one who has gone missing? Morihito?”

“Just so.” Tanjuro said with a nod. “Seeing the true thing as you request will have to wait until my son returns. Until then, I am more than willing to show you the flawed version that I learned.”

“Yes, please.” Kagaya said, reluctantly letting go of the man’s hand, the sun’s punishment returning the instant the contact ended. “Please, make use of the courtyard as you see fit.”

Tanjuro blinked. “I would not presume…”

Kagaya waved his concern away, Amane sighing in annoyance. “Please, it is I who is imposing on you.”

He conversed for a short moment with the young woman with him before stepping to an emptier area, then asked for permission to draw his sword.

The blade he drew was exquisite. Coal black, yet its edge glinted dangerously in the light of the sun. He began to move, and Kagaya could see what he meant. Kagaya was by no means a master of the blade, he couldn’t be. He had attempted to learn to wield the blade in his youth, ashamed at the prospect of sending Demon Slayers to their deaths yet eschewing such responsibility himself. His body had prevented him from practicing long enough to attain even basic competency.

Yet it would not be inaccurate to say that Kagaya had a deep understanding of the blade, he’d spent long hours watching Masters in their practice, as well as the training of their students.

It was definitely a Breathing Technique. Its movements flowed, yet it was not Water Breathing. Its strikes were powerful yet it was not Flame Breathing. Its speed was astounding yet it was not Thunder Breathing. Its stances were sturdy yet it wasn’t Stone Breathing. Its movements were swift and precise, yet it was not Wind Breathing.

The untrained eye might see it and believe that this man had created a breathing style that took from the Five Basic Breaths and had somehow succeeded in emulsifying them into a coherent whole. But Kagaya, and he suspected Tengen, could see the truth.

The Five Basic Breaths were made by concentrating on a single aspect of this singular Breathing Style. This is why, in the private writings of the original Masters. The First Breath was agreed to be the most powerful, because all others were imitations that eventually grew into their own.

The man finished showcasing the forms of the First Breath and sheathed his sword, walking back toward them.

“Incredible.” Kagaya murmured as he arrived.

“None at all.” Tanjuro said affably, his breathing slow and even. “Merely the result of practice, I assure you.”

Kagaya cleared his throat. “I am certain Tengen has already made the offer, but I’d like to invite you to join the Demon Slayer Corps.”

“I will do so under a few conditions.” Tanjuro said, making Kagaya’s heart jump. “The first is that this organization shall provide my family with food and shelter. The second is that you will give me the time to finish training my sons. My firstborn had taken them under his tutelage, but the First Among Demons attacked before their training was completed, it falls to me to finish what my son began.”

“Would you be willing to teach others in this style?” Kagaya asked.

“If they wish to learn it, yes.” Tanjuro said.

“Mister Tanjuro. I, erm…” The young woman said, visibly struggling with her words, then sighed and dejectedly murmured in English. “If only Morihito were here.”

Kagaya blinked and answered in the same language. “My own English is…eto…rusty, but I may be of some service.”

“Oh thank the Brothers!” The girl said. Then began a barrage of questions and statements that was far too fast for Kagaya’s untrained ability with the language to keep up with.

Tanjuro smiled softly as Kagaya did what he could to get the girl to calm down.

Still the son that Tanjuro had spoken about…Chances were poor that he hadn’t died fighting Muzan, the fact that he had held the demon off for a whole night was already incredibly impressive.

He could only wonder, if he truly lived, what had become of such a promising young man?

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Mukago screamed, the blade that sizzled through her flesh so hot that she felt an icy agony slice through her legs. She fell, legs that were suddenly missing her feet from the ankle down refusing to hold her up.

“Help!” She screamed as she felt her flesh run like wax, refusing to regenerate the way it should. “Somebody, please help me!”

She huffed as the armored foot crashed into her upper back, through her ribs, pressing her expensive pink kimono literally into her lung as the monster behind her ground his sole into the inside of her front ribs.

“Be silent.” It rumbled. “Unless you want me to cut out your venomous tongue.”

Mukago could only cough, the cough tasted like blood and dirt. Her only hope was that someone in the town would distract him long enough for her to get away.

The monster reached down, his hand closed entirely around her neck, he then tore his foot out of her chest before he slammed her back first against the wooden wall of the building they stood next to.

As if in answer to her prayers, a door opened on the other side of the street, bathing the monster in light. It was clad head to foot in blackened metal plates, its face was a snarling metal menpō, its tusks glistening with her blood.

From the depths of the mask glowed a pair of pitiless eyes. The pupils of both slitted in the way of most demons, one iris a bright pink, the other blood red.

“Hey! What are you…doing…” A large man began boisterously, before registering exactly what it was that he was screaming at.

The hand around her neck tightened, cutting off her air, not reacting at all when she struck the arm in an attempt to make it let go.

The monster turned away from her, the baleful light from the crude single-edged blade grasped in his right hand brightening, making the lines of the menpō into stark relief as his eyes seemed to glow brighter as it made her skin feel like she was standing next to a furnace.

“I…That…You…” The man said, his legs trembling like a newborn foal’s.

The monster stepped back, holding Mukago above the ground without effort.

She hit his elbow as hard as she could, the impact causing a shockwave and the blackened armor to thud like a struck boulder.

Mukago was not an ancient demon, but she was mighty, she was the Fourth Lower Moon, one of the Twelve Kizuki! The last time she’d hit a fully grown demon that hard, she’d turned part of his upper body into a liquid.

The monster seemingly didn’t notice. He didn’t even turn to look at her.

Then he ignited into pure white flame, her beautiful kimono flashing into ash and Mukago gurgled as she was not allowed to scream, her flesh sizzling.

“Remove Yourself.” The monster said to the human.

The human’s mouth opened and closed several times before he screamed something about demons and slammed the door closed.

The flames cut off, and the monster turned back to the now naked Mukago, her flesh bubbling, her muscles stinking of seared pork. She could feel her body trying to heal, but something didn’t allow her to.

The monster turned back to her, the snarl of his metal face now glowing with heat. “Tell me, Muzan. Do you feel their pain?”

Mukago felt her blood turn cold. She tried to speak, to let him know that Lord Muzan was not here, to beg his forgiveness, to promise him her fealty. Anything to create the opening she needed to escape.

“No, you’re too much of a coward to do that.” The monster said, driving that awful glowing blade into Mukago’s leg, centimeters above where her ankle used to be, and with a flick of his wrist, severed the flesh and bone, leaving behind a bubbling, burning stump. “You only look through their eyes like the worthless, cancerous parasite that you are.”

There was another flick of his wrist, another crushed attempt by Mukago to scream.

“The only ways to kill a demon, are by exposing them to the cleansing light of the sun or behead them with a sunlit blade. But tell me, Muzan, do you ever wonder what constitutes as ‘beheaded’?” His voice would be conversational, were it not for the rumbling undercurrent of malicious glee and rage, with another flick of his wrist, he removed another sliver of flesh from one of Mukago’s legs, ignoring her every attempt to fight back or wriggle free. “Do you ever wonder how much of a body would have to be cut away, before it counts as ‘beheaded’? I do, Muzan, I do wonder. And I look forward to finding out when I do this to you.”

Another flick, and another, and another. All through it the monster maintained a conversational tone, speaking as if Master Muzan could hear him.

She could see shadows in windows, people peeking out, driven to see what it was that made those pathetic noises. But not one of them shadows in the windows dared interrupt the monster as he had his fun.

An eternity later, once she no longer had legs, or hands, but she still had elbows. There was an icy pain, and she could feel nothing below her neck.

“And now I’m tired, Muzan.” The monster said, her view changing, his long, thudding footsteps making her view swig gently back and forth roughly at the height of his knee.

Falling quickly behind, she could see a headless female body, naked, legless, with its arms crudely cut just below the elbows.

“You should try sending someone strong, to kill me, Muzan.” The monster said, his grip on her hair tightened as Mukago realized the headless body that was being left behind was her own, that’s when she realized that she could no longer feel her neck, the numbness having climbed to her jaw. “I’d love to imagine your face twisted in agony as I gut them.”

Mukago felt sick as her world became a whirlwind, the ground, when she could glimpse it, first receding, then coming closer far too quickly.

The monster’s arm blurred, and she felt a sharp pain in her forehead, her eyes crossed as she saw the awful burning blade, protruding from above her eyes all the way down to the monster’s clawed metal hand.

“I didn’t find out this time, Muzan.” The monster said, turning its bicolored, burning gaze to glare balefully into her eyes. “I guess I’ll find out once I dig you out of whatever hole you’re hiding in, you worthless, sickly, dying coward.”

The monster’s hand blurred, and Mukago’s world was plunged into blessed oblivion.